World of Warcraft: The Ire of the Telchines
by Xander Floyd
Summary: In the war-torn world of Azeroth, a great and previously unknown evil begins to awaken, and only the chosen can stand up against the beings that even the gods fear. In this war, no land -or person- is safe... OCs mostly, rated T for language, violence, and severe depictions of drunkeness. This is a collaboration with my brother, Scott XIII.
1. Arbiter of Darkness

World of Warcraft

Ire of the Telchines

Chapter 1: Arbiter of Darkness

The Eastern Plaguelands. Scoured by the cataclysm years ago, it has yet to regain the beauty of its glory days as part of the human kingdom of Lordaeron. However, many brave humans are attempting to reclaim their homeland from the merciless remnants of the undead Scourge, though successes have been few and far between.

One of these bastions of light was Light's Hope Chapel, a base of the righteously-caused Argent Crusade. From this small church merely to the west of the foreboding Ebon Hold, the Crusade works to purge the undead from Lordaeron and find that light that had been missing for ages.

Some, however, would prefer to find out what the hell was going on…

It was a busy day at the Chapel; Lord Maxwell Tyrosus expected another attack from the Scourge come nightfall, and every Crusader was doing his or her part to prepare for the inevitable onslaught.

Among these Crusaders were two young paladins sparring together in the graveyard. Both had come from dynamically different backgrounds, but treated each other like brothers in the name of the Crusade.

The first was a human named Elarred Lightsire. Clean-shaven and youthful in appearance, he swung his sword as if he had done so all of his life, which in fact wasn't too far from the truth. His short brown hair flowed with the wind as he parried his opponent's blows; his wiry frame held firm against the onslaught and propelled his attacks in turn. Despite it being a practice fight, he wore full plate armor, which was simply designed but effective.

His father, the great paladin Sareth Lightsire, had instructed him from a young age to wield a sword and shield; he was the man who taught Elarred what the Holy Light meant. He dreamed of a career as a knight in Lordaeron's court, fighting evil across the land alongside the most famous of the kingdom's defenders. However, when Prince Arthas turned against Lordaeron, the Lightsires were among the first to suffer. Sareth died fighting Arthas' undead, while Elarred escaped to the Scarlet Crusade seeking sanctuary. Seeing that the Scarlet Crusade was falling to darkness, he fled there and found his way to Tirion Fordring, a stern but kind paladin who knew his father. Since then, Elarred was a favored member of the Crusade.

On the other end was Alegath Dyrtanos. Sporting spiky red hair and fierce green eyes, Alegath was a blood elf from Silvermoon City. His frame was slightly bulkier than Elarred's, but even that would make him large by blood elf standards. Unlike Elarred, Alegath wore red-painted plate armor he brought from Eversong Woods, crafted for him by a dearly departed friend.

Alegath received training as a Blood Knight in service to Lor'mathar Theron, at the time a regent. After helping to deal with the betrayal of Kael'thalas Sunstrider, Alegath resigned as a Blood Knight and took up adventuring, coming in contact with many Crusaders in the process. Seeing in the Argent Crusade what the Blood Knights' lacked, he signed up immediately.

The sparring session ended as Elarred tripped Alegath and thrust his wooden sword into the elf's face, barely stopping in front of his nose. They wore looks of complete seriousness for a second, then burst out laughing.

"That's the third time today, Elarred!" Alegath exclaimed.

"You almost had me, though!" Elarred jousted back.

"No, you had that planned from the beginning!"

"Fine, fine, whatever."

More laughing. Then the two knights walked towards the chapel. "So, ready for the assault tonight?" Elarred asked his friend.

"Absolutely. No Scourge monster is getting through _these _lines. Not while I'm here."

"Glad to hear it."

They approached the front of the chapel. To their surprise, the Crusaders had dropped what they were doing and had gathered around the chapel.

"What happened? Did the Lich King come back?" Alegath asked quietly.

"Don't know. We'll find out soon enough." They filed into the crowd to see that Lord Tyrosus and an older human mage were talking about something distressing.

"To put things straight," Tyrosus was saying, "Azeroth is at war once again."

There was murmuring the in the crowd, and the word "Theramore" passed the lips of most of the human Crusaders.

"What happened?" Elarred asked a nearby Crusader.

"Haven't ye heard?" the dwarf said. "The Horde destroyed Theramore Isle! There's no way that war can be averted this time!"

"This is the first time I've heard of this," Alegath said grimly. "Who ordered the attack?"

"That blasted orc, Hellscream. He thinks ta have Kalimdor all to the Horde."

Elarred found this disturbing, and it showed through his stormy sea-green eyes. "Garrosh Hellscream ordered the attack? I figured he was too smart for that."

"Guess not, eh?" The dwarf turned back to listen to Tyrosus while the duo broke away from the crowd.

"Theramore… destroyed," Elarred stated.

"Aye. Sounds like the elves might be involved as well." Alegath's eyes, while lacking pupils, still shone with worry. "There may be a possibility we'll be recalled."

Elarred frowned. If there was one thing he would not want to do, it was to turn a real blade at his friend. "Maybe not. We've severed our ties with our factions. They may not want us."

Alegath nodded. "Perhaps not. But perhaps they will. In that case, we must be prepared to do what we must." When Alegath saw his friend frowning in worry, he cracked a smile. "At least we shall know who will win if it comes to a show of blades."

The human paladin still frowned. "I guess so."

After watching the moping around, Alegath finally had enough. "Listen, brother: we share a bond that no political trifle can break. We swore the oath of the Crusade together, we fought the Scourge together—hell, we've saved each other's lives. Even if we do face each other on the field of battle, we will not forget the hardships we've endured as Crusaders."

This finally made Elarred smile. "You're right." He walked over to an abandoned table and picked up one of the wine bottles. He poured two glasses, then gave one to Alegath. "To the Crusade."

Alegath accepted the bottle and grinned. "To friendship."

Teldrassil

Kerida Moonwhisper focused her mana into the moonwell, hoping to derive some lesson from its waters. As a night elf, Kerida was light in skin tone and wore her silver hair long and free. As a priest, she wore simple white robes that made her look even more ethereal. Her eyes were closed, but when open they shone with the same silvery light that all night elves' eyes did, the same hue of the full moon.

Finally, a spirit materialized kneeling on the side of the moonwell. He smiled at Kerida as he walked weightlessly over the water to the center of the well.

"Listen well, young one, for this is a story worth remembering," the spirit of the Kaldorei spoke in an airy voice. "Many years ago, visitors from the stars graced the world with their light, creating many intriguing creatures in their benevolence. Many you are already familiar with, as they work side by side with our people today."

"However," the spirit continued, waggling his finger, "there is something you do _not_ know about these visitors. They brought company. _Dire_ company."

Kerida perked her long elven ears up. This was intriguing; the spirit was divulging from its usual lesson about the Titans for some reason.

"Many of our people are unsure what the visitors may have brought, whether wittingly or not. But one thing is for certain; these… _other_ visitors must not be allowed to return. For if they do…" The spirit put on an uncharacteristically grim face. "Doom will come to us all."

Kerida was stunned. "Who are these ones you speak of so direly, Spirit?" she asked without thinking. She forgot that the spirit didn't answer spoken questions; it just went with its lesson and moved on.

"Remember this, young priest," the spirit said, reverting back to its benign self. "For it may become of great importance in the future…" Before Kerida could ask again, the spirit dissipated into mist, leaving the moonwell looking decidedly murky.

The young elf stood, eyes widened in terror. Just what could be so terrible that the Titans would fear them?

Absent-mindedly, Kerida wandered back to Dolanaar, the nearby village. She had much to decipher yet.

"Bloody 'ell, Lucky, get it right!" Beraic Coalfist said. They had been flying in Luckellie "Lucky" Sprigglesprocker's flying machine for days now, trying to cross the sea on the way to Teldrassil.

"Hey, take it easy, Beraic!" the little gnome yipped. "I'm trying the best I can!"

Beraic let out a guttural sigh and flumped back into his passenger chair. He was by any standards a typical dwarf, with orange hair and braided beard tied into a chaotic mess. His arms were burly from working as a prospector for the Explorer's League, but his hands were dexterous for when he needed to cut a gemstone into a specific shape. Jewelcrafter by trade, adventurer by circumstance, he would always say. No one could argue with his twin axes, though; both normally require two hands to wield. But old Beraic was tougher than that.

Lucky was the antithesis of Beraic. Small, scraggly, and squirrely, Lucky was a gnome who loved to build stuff… mostly only to see it blow up in his face. His true talents laid with his training as a mage; he could enchant the equipment of his fellows and rain down fire on any enemies, say, a battalion of orcs.

They finally came into sight of Teldrassil. "Alright, lad, just take 'er slow and steady now…" Beraic cautioned.

"Trust me, friend," Lucky replied in his squeaky voice, "I don't plan on blowing this one up."

"I certainly 'ope not! Otherwise I'll have yer head on the wall!"

Lucky gulped, and Beraic immediately felt bad. He had been in high gear since the Horde blew up Theramore and was eager to get in on the action. But the Council of Three Hammers had other ideas; they sent him and Lucky to Teldrassil to pick up the night elves' latest recruits.

"Just keep 'er steady, 'kay?"

They finally landed in Dolanaar, where the recruits would gather for inspection. Beraic looked at the batch of new adventurers and decided that they had been through enough already, for they had the look of real, if green, adventurers. One in particular stood out, at least in Beraic's often beer-addled mind: a young night elf female dressed in clerical robes. She looked rather pale, but Beraic had become used to that in night elves. Then he saw that she was paler than the rest of the bunch and knew something was up.

_Oh, boy. I certainly 'ope that there's a beer in this for me…_


	2. Eye of the Hunter

World of Warcraft

Ire of the Telchines

Chapter 2: Eye of the Hunter

**Ehehehe, forgot to publish this chapter... Been so focused on my novel I kinda phased out of fan-fiction. Anyway, this chapter takes focus off of Elarred and Alegath and turns to a group of Alliance and Horde soldiers getting ready for the Pandaren campaign. Hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

Halfway between Teldrassil and the Azuremyst Isles

Aladas Sharpmoore flew high above the Alliance recruitment fleet sailing to Teldrassil atop his snowy gryphon, his sharp grey eyes watching the new draenei recruits milling about the decks. He wore his long red hair in a pony-tail, as was the habit of men from his small town in Elwynn Forest. His mail shirt and hauberk covered up the toned muscles of the outdoorsman, while his spur-equipped boots dug lightly into the flying beast's sides, directing it. In a large backpack of Aladas' own design, a black-and-white furred fox enjoyed the sensation of the wind with his tongue hanging out, while a large brown eagle flew alongside its master.

And of course, he had his gun.

Something about one of the recruits caught Aladas' eye. The draenei in question wasn't large for his kind; most draenei were around seven feet tall, but this one was about six. In addition, he had an absence of the long tendrils that distinguished the otherworldly race from Draenor; he had a goatee in place of that. He was wearing a leather hauberk not too unlike Aladas', and he had a silver-plated crossbow strapped to his back.

But that wasn't what caught Aladas off guard; what did was the recruits poise amongst the rest of the recruits; where the others bantered nervously amongst each other, this one stood silently at the bow of the ship, looking out towards Teldrassil.

_The mark of experience, _Aladas thought. Spurring his gryphon downward, he managed to land next to the recruit, who he had already determined was more experienced that he looked.

"Recruit," he said in a firm greeting befitting a CO.

The draenei turned towards the human, eyeing him cautiously. "Are you Commander Sharpmoore?"

"One and the same," Aladas replied.

"Vindicator Ferrom, Hand of Argus. Pleasure to meet you, Commander."

"The pleasure is all mine, Vindicator," Aladas replied. Then he asked, "Isn't the Hand of Argus normally a paladin organization? You look to be more a hunter than a paladin."

"I was a special exception; the Exodar saw my record in the field, and sent me to Bloodmyst to help out."

"So you've seen combat."

"Yes, sir. Fought against orcs and blood elves alike; know their anatomy inside and out. Can get them where it hurts, without fail."

The hunter-commander smiled. "Ever try to shoot a qiraji battleguard's heart between the scales?"

Ferrom frowned. "I have not."

"Did it. Twice. Two separate targets. On top of a gryphon with a dozen Nerubian fliers on my tail."

Now it was Ferrom's turn to crack a grin. "Not bad, Commander."

"I have witnesses, in case you're wondering; though admittedly one was probably half drunk at the time." He shrugged. "Then again, that's when he's at his most effective." Patting Ferrom on the shoulder, he finished the conversation by saying, "Good luck out there, Vindicator. You're going to need it in this hell we call war."

* * *

Stranglethorn Jungle, Eastern Kingdoms

Gild Riley was never one for lengthy wars. As a true-blooded Gilnean, he was a proponent of that kingdom's isolation and independence, scoffing at the "high and mighty gabbers" in the Alliance.

That was before he was bitten by a feral worgen.

After waking up a year later in a musty cage in a form completely unfamiliar to him, he learned that there was more to the world than the one he had built behind the walls of his soul. He didn't get along with people very well, but then again, who could blame him? He was a six-foot-tall werewolf, after all.

Most people were _afraid_ of him. That fear, corrupting to some, actually opened up Gild's heart to those in need, seeing himself in each frightened citizen he passed. Gilneas had since joined the Alliance that he had scoffed in his younger years; his king, Genn Greymane, had revealed his nature to all as a worgen that had found the light.

Someone Gild decided he could follow to the ends of the earth.

Now he stalked the rainforest south of Duskwood, melding into the background as rogues often do. There, in the underbrush, daggers in hand, he waited. Waited for that one orc to stray too far from the base camp, waited for the chance to dig his blades into its green flesh, to tear his throat out with his bare fangs, to rip his heart from his—

He shook his head, dismissing the animal that was starting to surface. Even with the rituals of the night elves, he had a hard time keeping his bestial side in check at times. Perhaps it was the blood he saw when the worgen started to storm the city he loved…

A green silhouette wandered close, clearly in a drunken stupor. Seeing that it was the enemy, Gild crept to the edge of the brush and waited patiently for the orc to stumble close enough.

Five steps away. Four… two… one.

The orc never saw the shadow that engulfed him and dragged him into the brush. Nor did he have time to howl before his vocal cords were cut out of his neck. All he saw was the black wolf head that grinned like the beast it was…

* * *

Not too far away from Gild's killing ground…

* * *

Nazgrit Grimaxe the orc lived up to his name; no one had ever escaped the bite of his weapons of choice as long as he had been fighting. His troops looked up to him as a brave and daring commander, and never once doubted one of his commands.

The great leader, however, had his doubts about his own leader, the current Warchief Garrosh Hellscream. The attack on Theramore, in his mind, was madness; Nazgrit understood the importance of balance in the political landscape of Azeroth and sought to negotiate any time possible.

Now, in his small camp outside of the main Grom'gol camp, he awaited further orders from Orgrimmar, the capital. He twirled his axe in the dirt, while his shield leaned against the pitted log that served as a bench. His dark-green face creased with worry, for one of his soldiers had not returned from his drunken wander.

"What's the point of drinking if it doesn't keep you on guard?" Nazgrit asked himself in Orcish.

"Something wrong, Commander?" one of his present troops asked.

"Nothing, Gron. Return to your duties."

"_Edabu_, Commander." The soldier turned around and walked away, leaving Nazgrit to his musings.

Finally he got up with a loud grunt. "What the hell is taking that cur so long?" He asked as he stomped after his errant comrade.

Gild saw the next orc coming; this one was a good one, a commander, with the signature top-knot of the Grimaxe clan. His previous kill had been dumped to the side, still warm from life. He reapplied his poisons which had killed the soldier so easily and prepared for another easy mark.

Nazgrit, however, had sensed something was up and was one his guard. Shield and axe in hand, he kept away from the brush, for his experience told him that assailants hid in that.

"Come out, you coward!" he shouted in Common, since his foe was most likely human. "Come out and fight me like a man!"

"That, I am not," a voice came in the form of a growl. Nazgrit issued a battle roar as the assailant- a worgen- leapt out of the brush right at him. Leaving his thoughts in the back-burner, Nazgrit swung his shield in a defensive manner, catching the wolf-man's daggers and sending him flying away.

The worgen landed on his feet and slid a ways before leaping back into action, banging his daggers against Nazgrit's shield. He didn't notice that Nazgrit had brought his axe up and was about to swing it at his head.

He did noticed in time, however, and caught the blade with one of his daggers. The result was an odd configuration of orc and worgen, with the latter standing on the former's shield and his dagger holding the axe at bay.

Finally, the worgen seemed to decide that the mark wasn't worth it; he dived off the shield and into the brush quicker than Nazgrit could react, leaving the orc commander confused and enraged. Wandering into the brush, he found his missing soldier dead from the rogue's poisons.

All Nazgrit could do at that point was bellow wordlessly after the worgen, for his honor had been stained.

And orcish honor could only be restored one way. With blood.


	3. Blade of the Life-Giver

World of Warcraft

Ire of the Telchines

Chapter 3: Blade of the Life-giver

Light's Hope Chapel, Eastern Plaguelands

The hours after the announcement of war between the Alliance and Horde saw the Argent Crusade in a somber mood. Each Crusader knew that at some point or another they'd be called by their respective factions to aid in the growing conflict. The undead Crusaders, however, were not concerned; they had renounced any connection to either the Scourge or, more importantly, to the Forsaken.

For at least one day, Elarred wished he was one of the Argent undead. For him, getting sent out to war on a distant front meant that he would probably never see Lordaeron again, at least in person. In addition, he may be forced to cross swords with Alegath, his friend since he had joined the Crusade.

Both had been called, and both had to answer.

Elarred started to pack his things. He didn't carry much; the Crusade didn't put much into material things. What he did have was his old suit of plate armor and his beat-up sword, which was hardly worthy for a lengthy war. It had served him well in the past few years, but it was probably time to retire the sword for a brand-new one.

"Elarred," a voice said from his door. He turned around to see Maxwell Tyrosus, the head of the chapel, waiting outside with a long, wrapped bundle in his hands.

"Lord Tyrosus," Elarred said in greeting, dropping what he was doing and bowing slightly.

"At ease. Elarred…" Tyrosus pondered his next words. "How much do you remember about your father?"

He was startled; no one had asked him about Sareth Lightsire in years. "Sir, I remember how he taught me to wield the sword in defense of Lordaeron. I remember how much the people admired him; almost as much as Prince Arthas. I remember-"

"Enough." He was again startled by Tyrosus' suddenness. He had probably overstepped his bounds by mentioning Arthas, who was at one point also the Lich King of the Scourge.

"How much do you remember about your _father_? Not Sareth the paladin, but your _father._"

"I… I'm not sure I understand, sir."

Tyrosus sighed. "I figured as much. All these years, and you don't remember who he was to you? Do you remember him by his deeds to the people, or by his love for you?"

Elarred was silent; he knew better than to bark at his commander in anger.

"Ah, well. It can't be helped. I'll tell you this much; your father left a legacy, one that a man cannot easily live up to. I hope, however, that this will help you do so."

Tyrosus unraveled the bundle, revealing a two-handed sword sheathed in a beautifully-carved green scabbard. "This is Astralmar, also known as the Blade of the Life-giver. It is said that it was dipped in the blood of Alexstrasza when it was spilt in the War of the Ancients. As a result, it was given many of her powers. It was your father's sword," Tyrosus added as he held it out to Elarred, "and he wanted you to have it when you were of age.

Without thinking about it, Elarred took Astralmar from Tyrosus and drew it out of its scabbard. True to the legend, the blade was stained with a large red mark which could be made out to be the blood of the Dragon Queen.

"It's beautiful. Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me," Tyrosus said as Elarred fastened the scabbard to his back. "Thank your father; he was wise enough to give this to me before he died, just so I could give it to you." He clasped the younger knight's shoulder, a gesture rarely given. "Use it well, Sir Lightsire."

A big grin spread across Elarred's face. "I will, sir."

Then he sheathed Astralmar for the first of many times to come.

Darnassus, Teldrassil

"Beraic, I _really_ think you've had enough to drink."

Beraic clucked his tongue in disdain. "Ah, Lucky," he replied, slurring his words slightly. "A dwarf's _never_ had enough to drink." Then he swung down another shot.

The first thing Beraic did when he got to Teldrassil was to find the cheapest place to get a beer. Lucky had told him that their responsibilities as Alliance ambassadors came first, but the call for alcohol was too strong; before he knew it the gnome was chasing the dwarf all over Darnassus, much to the confusion and amusement of the night elf recruits gathered outside.

"Please don't make me purge your system again," Lucky pleaded urgently. "You say you don't like it, but when you get too drunk you tend to…"

_Belch!_ Beraic let loose a huge burp, stunning all of the patrons assembled in the Gilnean refuge in the night elf capital. "Don't be ridiculous! If I need it, I need it. Oi, barkeep!" Now he slammed his mug on the counter. "Fill me up, will ya?!"

Finally fed up with the game, Lucky conjured a fireball and smashed the mug to bits. Before the nearly-drunk dwarf could protest Lucky got a telekinetic hold on his beard and dragged him off the stool and out of the refuge.

"Never brush off a gnome mage, Beraic. _Never,_" Lucky grumbled as Beraic mumbled curses aloud.

The assembled night elves looked nervous as they stood at attention in the city's center. Kerida didn't blame them; many had never been to war before. Sure, there were problems on Teldrassil, but never something as big as war. The fact that the Horde attack was close to the World Tree made things even worse. Now, draenai were pouring in from Azuremyst Isle.

Kerida didn't stand at attention; as a Priestess of the Moon and a trained druid, she was given a special place amongst the recruits. The words of the spirit were still fresh in her mind; what awaited them on the battlefield terrified her.

Finally, the recruiters, an irritated gnome and a drunken dwarf, approached the recruits. The gnome was clearly in charge of his inebriated partner, but Kerida couldn't shake the impression that the dwarf was far more experienced.

"All right, fellas," the gnome said in his high-pitched voice. "My name is Luckellie Gearspraddle, and this," he gestured to the dwarf, "is Beraic Coalfist. Believe it or not, he's going to be your CO."

This elicited a few snickers from the recruits, which didn't surprise Kerida. Beraic looked like he would tip over if Lucky didn't have a hold on him.

"So, basically, we're here to take you to the frontlines. You guys are going to be the footmen in this battle; you've all had your experiences in the field, and I'm sure a few of you have had some pretty hectic fights."

_So true,_ Kerida thought, remembering a brutal fight she had with a corrupted dusksaber cat.

"So anyway, just get out there and-"

"Wait a minute!" Beraic suddenly called out. Kerida jolted at this; it was the first time the dwarf spoke. "We're lookin' fer someone in particular… Anyone 'ere named 'Kerida Moonwhisper?'"

Another jolt went through her. Then, without thinking about the consequences, she slowly raised her hand. "Here."

"All right, lassie, just come up 'ere, will ya?"

Reluctantly, Kerida stepped away from the other druids and joined Beraic and Lucky at the front. Beraic leaned in and whispered, "Tyrande said that you were especially strong; we're gonna need ya for the mission we've got planned."

"Uh… thank you."

"Don't look so shy, lass; I ain't always this drunk."

This was the third time she had been surprised. Was Beraic merely acting the part of a drunkard?

Needless to say, Beraic was now standing on his own accord and addressed the rest of the recruits. "All right, ye tree-huggers! Git ready, 'cause ol' Beraic's gonna set you up straight! First order of business: a mug of ale! Second order of business," he hiccupped in between, "whacking as many orcs as we can! Third order of business: stayin' alive, lads. Stayin' alive."

Lucky looked impressed. Apparently Beraic didn't make speeches like this often.

"So let's get out there and give those orcs what-for, eh?!"

The whole regiment burst out with a simultaneous "Yes, sir!" and saluted the dwarf.

"I gotta say, Beraic," Lucky whispered, "I didn't expect you to do that. Usually you fall flat on your face."

"Like I told the lassie, I ain't that drunk. Now where's that ale?!"

Kerida chuckled. She was going to love working with these two.


	4. The Wayward Worgen

World of Warcraft: Ire of the Telchines

Chapter 4: The Wayward Worgen

**Author's Note: Up until this point I've been writing about my own characters, but now I'm getting around to my brother's characters. This chapter involves two of them, the worgen mage Jadus and the gnome warlock Telvan, and more will be introduced as the story goes on. Enjoy!**

Stormwind City

"But, Telvan!"

"No buts about it, Jadus!" the gnome snapped. The tall worgen could be such a child sometimes. "The King has ordered us to mobilize, so we're mobilizing. If you've got a problem with that, go take it up with him."

Jadus groaned. "But c'mon, Telvan; we don't even know where we're going!" They had been wandering the capital city of the Alliance for quite some time, looking for their transport to the new war-front. "I thought you knew where it was!"

"I do know! It's just that I can't find the ship we need to get onto, you rabid moron!" Telvan scoured the harbor, looking for anything seaworthy. "Maybe that dwarf was throwing us into a loop…"

"What, Commander Beraic? I don't think so." Jadus scratched himself behind the ear. "Sure, he may have a few more drinks than necessary, but that doesn't make him-"

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Telvan approached a city guard and tugged on his greave. Hopefully he could give them directions.

The guard looked down at Telvan, slightly bemused, then saw Jadus and went pale. "How can I help you, gentlemen?" he stammered nervously.

Telvan rolled his eyes; not all of the humans had gotten used to worgen being their allies. "We're looking for the _Skyfire_; any idea on where it's docked?"

The guard seemed to forget his anxiety and looked back to Telvan. "You got a gryphon? It's a long way up."

"An _airship?!_" Jadus exclaimed excitedly. "The _Skyfire_'s an airship?!"

"Well, yeah. It's the ship that fought Deathwing a couple years ago. It's the pride and joy of the Alliance!"

Telvan slapped his palm onto his face; he had spent too much time in Outland perfecting his demonology. "Okay… Then can we secure a flight up there?"

The guard looked over the two's robes. "I would think you could just conjure up a portal, but you can ask the flight master."

"Sounds good to us," Jadus interjected before Telvan could explode. "Let's go!"

"_But the blasted flight master is on the other damned side of town!_" Telvan screamed at the guard as Jadus hoisted him up and carried him off.

"Thank you," Elarred said as he handed the reins off to the flight master. The flight from Light's Hope to Stormwind had taken less than a day, and he was looking forward to stopping by the inn to check on his cousin, Florade. However, he was given pause by an approaching worgen carrying what seemed to be a very angry gnome.

"Jadus, put me down right this instant, or I'll sic a Voidwalker on you!" the gnome was hollering.

Jadus – the worgen – chuckled. "Yeah, don't you need to be _on the ground_ for that? Kinda useless when you're-"

A searing pain suddenly overtook Elarred's mind; he could see through hazy eyes that Jadus was experiencing the same pain.

His mind's eye brought him to a strange, burned out husk of a place, a virtual wasteland suspended in the Twisting Nether. His first thought was that he was in Outland; to be specific, the Hellfire Peninsula. He saw a horde of demons marching towards the Dark Portal, led by a strange being he didn't recognize.

The being wasn't a demon, but it may very well have been; it sported a hodgepodge of animal parts in a giant humanoid frame, such as the head of an eagle, the claws of a raptor, and the feet of a lion. Its soulless eyes seemed to bore into the heads of all the demons present, sending a command to destroy all that laid in their path.

Then those eyes turned to Elarred. He felt a rising fear as the being reached out for him with a hideously clawed hand, growling with utter hatred.

His vision cleared just as he was about to be diced to bits, and he was back in Stormwind. The gnome was standing over Jadus, concerned despite his apparent anger.

"Jadus, you okay? It's not like you to double over like that?"

"It's not like me, either," Elarred replied, grabbing the pair's attention. "Did you see what I see?"

"Yeah." Jadus wiped away a pained tear. "What _was_ that thing, anyway? It didn't look like any demon that I knew of."

"Demon? What demon?"

Jadus described the creature to his companion, who introduced himself as Telvan. The gnome shook his head in response.

"I've never heard of anything like it, and that's saying something. I think that for now, though, we should focus on getting to the war-front. Maybe answers will show up there."

Elarred smiled. "So you're going, too? I was called all the way from Lordaeron to serve."

Telvan glanced at the young paladin. "Oh, yeah? I didn't think that the Argent Crusade accepted half-elves."

It was like someone had stuck an ice-cold spear through his heart; his heritage was a closely guarded secret of his. His mother was of high-elf descent, which made him a half-elf. Half-elves were usually looked down upon by humans as strange and by high elves as weak. His physical appearance was more human-like, but close observers could notice the slight taper in his ears and the unusual brilliance in his eyes.

Many in the Crusade, however, overlooked the matter of heritage by virtue of Elarred's devotion to the cause; Alegath managed to get over his aversion to them just by befriending him.

"I'm an exception," he replied after a pause.

"Sorry," Jadus said. "Sometimes Telvan is a little blunt with his words."

"As if you're any better! So, shall we get going? I'm eager to see where the King has sent us."

Elarred nodded. "Right, let me just meet with my cousin; she runs the inn in town."

_Florade is _not_ going to be happy,_ he thought as the two oddballs volunteered to go with.


	5. The Gilded Rose

**Ugh, I hate going on these long sabbaticals... Anyway, here's chapter 5 of the Ire of the Telchines. Hope you enjoy it!**

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World of Warcraft: Ire of the Telchines

Chapter 5: The Gilded Rose

The Gilded Rose Inn, Stormwind City

Florade Lightsire busied herself with the remaining customers in her bar, avoiding their drunken grasps for her rear end. She was quite the looker for a innkeeper; she tied her brown hair into a long ponytail that reached down to the small of her back and sported soft brown eyes that even so had the ferocity of an Outland ravager. Her simple one-piece dress left little to the imagination and resulted in many a suitor and broken heart.

The last customer was leaving the bar, and she started to clean up for closing time. As she did, three people – a human, a gnome, and a worgen – entered the inn.

She didn't recognize the man at first. "Sorry, sir, but we're closed."

"Wow, Flo, that was really cold," the man said with a smile. "Is the Rose closed even for family?"

"Elarred? El, is that you?" Florade did a double take and instantly recognized the kind face of her cousin. "Oh, it _is_ you!"

Elarred accepted her hug, then asked, "Is it okay if we hang out here for a while?"

"Of course, El! Anything for family!" She looked to the two other men in the room. "But who are they?"

Introductions went smoothly; Florade set to work brewing drinks for her guests while Elarred settled in at one of the dinner tables.

"So, _El,_" Telvan started. "How come your cousin isn't a half-elf?"

He flinched at the warlock's bluntness. "Her father was my uncle; he married a human. Even though he disliked me, Flo has always looked after me, especially after…" His mind went back to the betrayal of Arthas and the death of his father.

"Man, that's rough," Jadus said. Then Florade brought him his drink and he promptly forgot that the world existed. "Ooh, my favorite! Thanks, Flo!"

Florade merely stared. "That's Florade to you. Only El is allowed to use my nickname, and vice versa."

"Oh… sorry."

"Really sorry about that, Lady Florade," Telvan said as Jadus lost himself within his drink. "It's hard to keep him on a leash sometimes."

"It's perfectly fine." She started brewing another spirit. "So, what's a gnome and a worgen doing travelling together anyway?"

"Well, we were just going to-"

"_Open the floodgates and let the ale flow!"_ a booming voice shouted from outside. The voice belonged to a boisterous dwarf that quickly burst into the inn. "It's drinkin' time!"

"I did not open a portal from Darnassus to here so you can drink, Beraic," a gnome tailed behind. He got one glimpse at Telvan and had his face fall. "Telvan?"

"Oh. Hey, Lucky." Elarred got the feeling that the warlock wasn't too happy to see the other gnome. "How'd recruiting go?"

"Just fine, thank you! We have quite the batch of adventurers to send off to Pandaria. Here's one of them!"

Lucky allowed the recruit to come in. Immediately Elarred was thunderstruck. Maybe it was his elven heritage, but he was stunned by the night elf's natural beauty. He could tell that she was a druid by the fact that she wore no shoes, but then again, that was typical of most night elves.

"Folks, allow me to introduce Kerida Moonwhisper. She's one of the lucky elves that will serve as Beraic's lieutenants."

Kerida blushed slightly and waved. In return, Elarred waved absently back.

"Oi! Wakey-wakey!" Beraic came up and smacked Elarred on the back of his head. "You can ask 'er out later! For now, we drink!" He jumped up on the table and started waving his arms like a madman. "C'mon, we'll get drunker than a Brewfest kodo! Hit me, Flo!"

Florade seemed aghast by Beraic's strange swagger, but she eventually smiled. "Of course, Beraic; anything for a friend of El."

He wasn't sure if he'd consider Beraic a friend; more like a drunken show monkey, if anything at all. But he was too busy trying to recover to care.

"Mind if I sit down, sir?" she asked him. He instantly became nervous; her choice of seat was immediately to his left.

"S-sure, go ahead," he stammered out. She sat down, glanced at him, and smiled.

_Keep it together, Elarred, keep it together_, he kept telling himself. His palms were getting sweaty in his gauntlets, and his heart was pounding like a drum solo. "So… new to Stormwind, Kerida?"

"Yes, sir," she replied. "I've spent most of my life on Teldrassil, so everything is new to me." She looked around the inn, seeming taking in the atmosphere. Then she glanced at Elarred's chest. "You're part of the Argent Crusade?"

He looked down; he had forgotten to take off his crusader tabard before he got to Stormwind. "Yes… I was."

The night elf raised an eyebrow to that. "You speak as if it is in the past."

"You kidding?" Jadus interjected. "After the Theramore attack, anyone attached to the Alliance got called to active duty, past loyalties thrown to the wind." He looked down. "Myself included…"

Just then, a soldier wearing Stormwind colors walked into the inn. "I'm assuming you're all heading to the _Skyfire _post-haste," he said in an officious tone.

"Aye, Private," Beraic said before anyone could get an annoyed word in. "Just gettin' some R&R before we go."

"Right, Commander," the soldier said, seeming to recognize the dwarf. Then he turned on his heel and left.

All eyes were on Beraic at the same time. "I had no idea he had the clarity to be a commander," Florade commented.

Beraic frowned. "Okay, fer that one you're going with us."


End file.
